


Come Hell or High Water

by bakedgarnet



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: F/F, Set during 6x1, alternate bathtub scene, contains spoilers for 6x1, mellivia - Freeform, requited love (feat. impossible circumstances)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9579050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedgarnet/pseuds/bakedgarnet
Summary: In which Mellie and Olivia exchange apologies in a bathroom between a bottle of red wine and a lost election.





	

Mellie didn't pass back their shared bottle of red wine after Olivia handed it over her shoulder the last time. There were too many mutual swallows of the sweet liquid to count, but as far as Mellie could tell, the large wine bottle was nearing its final dredges. 

 

Mellie was always a beer fan, never a wine person at all, let alone one who preferred red to white, but that was one of the few things that changed alongside her newfound friendship with Olivia.

 

And it was a mutual sharing of habits. 

 

Mellie introduced Olivia to more wholesome meals that didn't consist of only massive bowls of popcorn— like Gettysburgers, freedom fries, and bags of sea salt potato chips.

 

And Olivia introduced her to wine as red as the blood of the American people and the feeling of a heartbeat stuck in her throat every time she even looked her way.

 

None of those things seemed to matter though, not now. Not after she had just lost the presidency, and had stood shocked and humiliated in front of her entire team. Not after Olivia had forced her to call and concede with  _ grace  _ and  _ humility _ . Not after watching Olivia’s wall of fierce determination crumple before her eyes as she dragged her into the too large bathroom for a long time coming dip in the pool of red wine and aching losses.

 

Mellie counted tonight as several failures, all of which stung in the most bitter of ways.

 

She lost the election, sure, but that also meant that she lost the opportunity to share the White House with Olivia. The opportunity to give Olivia what Mellie knew she wanted, and what she knew she  _ deserved _ : a White House to match her white hat—

 

She swallowed heavily and brought the bottle back to her lips for a long swig. When she set it back down between her crumpled legs and the side of the bathtub she rested in, a long sigh left her lips.

 

She wanted to make Olivia proud, to impress her, even. There was something festering beneath the surface of the tension that raged between them like a live wire. That something had begged her to do everything in her power to grab this election by its throat and make it bow to her. To show Olivia that she could go to war and not only win, but  _ dominate _ . 

 

But now the presidency knelt for Frankie  _ fucking _ Vargas, and Olivia was two feet away, taking turns drinking her sorrows and currently in no better state than Mellie when it came down to just being fucking  _ tired _ .

 

“I’m sorry I lost.”

 

Olivia’s voice startled her in the otherwise silent bathroom. There was nothing but the two of them and a bottle of wine behind that locked door, and the sense of surrealism opened up some uncharted lane of communication between them.

 

“No,” Mellie barely whispered, and then louder, “Thank you, for everything, really.”

 

She looked up only to be met with the back of Olivia’s head, the straightened strands of her hair still laying down and curling at the ends effortlessly through the stress of the night. She heard Olivia sigh, and then those large brown eyes were locked onto hers.

 

Mellie’s breath went missing in her lungs, and she could do nothing but stare back.

 

She felt her pulse lodged in her throat.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Mellie’s face crumbled with confusion, her mind already a little bit hazy from the wine, “I just said—”

 

“ _ Listen.  _ Please. ” Olivia cut her off.

 

Mellie closed her mouth.

 

“I’m sorry that we wasted eight years of our lives at war with each other. I’m sorry that we never met under different circumstances, Mellie, and I’m  _ especially _ sorry that—” Olivia's quieted voice hitched in her throat as her eyes began to mist. Mellie knew her well enough to know she wouldn't dare let a tear fall. 

 

“I’m sorry that you weren't the Grant I fell in love with first.” That apology and confession hung in the air for a long, painful moment before, “I wanted to do this for you, initially, because I believed you were a capable candidate. I still do. You were a complete pain in my ass, and a total _brat_ , but you had potential. You could stand on your own two feet, and fight and  _ win _ , and you put your brain where your mouth is _.  _ And then I got to know  _ you _ .” Olivia trailed off as she spoke to Mellie, turning back around and sitting on the now-warm tile to face the opposite wall instead of the woman she was confessing everything to.

 

“You’re not an  _ ice queen _ , or a  _ know it all,  _ or whatever else it is that I thought about you— well, you can be a bitch, but who can afford not to be in this line of work?” Olivia seemed to laugh a bit, though it sounded tired.

 

Mellie stared at the back of her head with a slack jaw and a hand clenched around the neck of the wine bottle.

 

“You are the most passionate,  _ caring,  _ self-sacrificing woman I have ever met.” Olivia admitted with a heavy swallow and a waver in her voice as she seemed to be weighing her next words.

 

“And while I  _ am _ sorry that I lost this election… I’m not sorry for how close this campaign has brought us together.” Olivia turned to face her fully this time, her knees pressed against the tile and her dark, expressive eyes trained on Mellie’s light ones.

 

Mellie felt her pulse pounding in her ears as she tightly hung onto the bottle of red wine in one hand and used the other to prop herself up on the side of the bathtub. She found herself leaning forward until her face was only a foot away from Olivia's. It was silent for a long moment.

 

“I’m sorry my husband got to you before I could.” She finally confessed with a sad smile, her breath smelling freshly of red wine and the remnant scent of the mint gum she had been stress-chewing earlier.

 

“And while we're on apologies…” Mellie reached forward with her free hand and tucked a curl of hair behind Olivia’s ear.

 

“I’m sorry I was too afraid to kiss you before this,” she murmured before leaning in and capturing Olivia’s stunned lips with her own. It took a long second for the other woman to kiss her back, but that long moment of fear for the worst was replaced by elation as Olivia’s lips began to move feverishly against hers. Her hands rose to grip the sides of Mellie’s face as they kissed, and the air between them crackled like the release of energy in that pent-up live wire.

 

When they finally pulled apart, Olivia’s eyes were wide and searching. They flickered between Mellie’s own gaze with some look between shock and wonder singing behind brown irises. The silence was deafening and filled the air around them until they nearly suffocated with its potency—

 

Horrified gasps poured in from beneath the door, followed by the frantic moving of feet and ringtones blaring alongside urgent voices raised with alarm— all of which pierced the balloon of silence surrounding them until it exploded and left their lungs with space to  _ breathe.  _ The spell between them was not broken, more like stored for later use, as the world rushed back into their senses. 

 

“ _ What  _ is going on?”

 

Olivia was in her feet in moments, legs slightly wobbly in her sinfully expensive heels after sitting for so long, but the door was unlocked and opened with a swiftness that left Mellie in the dust. Mellie shakily stood from her seat in the bathtub, feeling the alcohol in her system settle now that she was in motion, and followed behind her campaign manager blindly and confusedly after leaving the bottle in the tub.

 

And just outside, broadcasted for the nation to see, was Frankie Vargas being carted away and moved into an ambulance. The news tag beneath the screen read a chilling: ' _ Gunfire erupts at Fairmount Park _ .' The news anchor’s steady voice announced,  _ “Frankie Vargas has just been shot. The president elect has been shot.”  _ Blood splatter dripped down the presidential background screen behind the podium like red wine.

 

Murmurs around the room, as clipped and distorted as they may have sounded, reacted to the tragedy very quickly.

 

“—been shot!”

 

“Holy shit—”

 

“...Mellie still be president, then?”

 

“...he’ll come back from this?  _ I _ _doubt it_.”

 

Then Olivia’s voice, cutting through it all, “ _ What  _ is going on?” She demanded again with a sharpness that startled everyone listening. 

 

And as Mellie’s wide eyes tracked the screen in the midst of raised voices and the bustling of her ever-busy team, she only  _ wished _ she felt guilty for the way her mind immediately snaked around the fact that she had another chance if Vargas didn't make it, that she almost wished he wouldn't.

 

She would have another chance to win Liv the White House. 

 

And she would seize it, and win, come hell or high water.

**Author's Note:**

> Season 5 and 6 have been brimming with mellivia, and currently it's the only thing getting me through my writer's block (Also, the olivia/mellie tag needed a little loving). Thanks for reading!


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